


Hit so Hard

by isawrightless



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7012477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isawrightless/pseuds/isawrightless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been three days without listening to the sound of the boy’s voice. A rough, strong voice that makes Tim sound older than he is, a voice that really shouldn’t belong to a sixteen-year-old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit so Hard

I.

When they get home, bruised and tired, Bruce doesn’t give Tim a chance to explain himself. He barely looks at the boy as he walks down the stairs, feeling the cold air of the cave hitting his face, letting it burn, taking away all the warmth.

He can feel the boy’s uneasiness, can feel the disappointment, but he doesn’t look.

He can’t look.

“You need stitches,” he says instead.

“But there’s paperwork and-”

“Leave that to me.”

“You’re benching me?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I know I messed up but—”

“You got cocky!” and before he realizes it, he turns around and is face to face with the boy’s swollen eye and cracked lips. His heart beats a little funny when he looks down and sees the red so perfectly bright on the cold ground.

“You’re bleeding, you need stitches, you’re in no shape to continue this mission. Wait here, I’ll get Alfred-”

“Don’t even bother!” the younger male says, bitterness in his voice as he makes his way back, calling Alfred once he reaches the top of the stairs.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a migraine coming in.

He goes back to work.

II.

“It would be wise to at least acknowledge Master Tim’s presence in the house,” Alfred says as he places the food tray on the desk, careful not to mess up any paper or book.

“How is he?” Bruce asks, his eyes never leaving the computer.

With both hands behind his back, a perfect posture and his chin held high, Alfred says, “Physically, the boy is fine. I’ve cleaned and stitched his wounds, and the swelling on his right eye has reduced. Mentally, however, I would dare a guess and say he feels as though he has failed you.“

"He has.”

“Is that so, Master Bruce?”

Bruce closes his eyes. His head hurts, so does the rest of his body. Every limb is aching, every wound begging for attention.

“No. No, he hasn’t failed me, but he failed the mission. He should know by now never to act as invincible, Alfred.”

“Fair enough, and I mean no disrespect, sir, but you too should know by now that not every mistake ends in death.”

The butler, confident in his words, leaves without uttering another one. Bruce, whose mind is lost to explosions and the undignified smell of burned flesh, turns his attention once more to the screen of the computer.

III.

He hasn’t spoken to Tim since their fight. They exchange glances every now and then, but Tim patrols alone, and Bruce follows, stays in the shadows, makes sure the boy is all right and then leaves.

It’s been three days without listening to the sound of the boy’s voice. A rough, strong voice that makes Tim sound older than he is, a voice that really shouldn’t belong to a sixteen-year-old.

Bruce realizes how much he misses it when the silence starts hurting his ears.

(the silence he holds dear)

IV.

It’s Wednesday, and he finds himself thinking about Tim and jerking off like a teen boy, like he has just discovered sex and orgasms, like he has any right to do this when Tim is still so upset and so beaten and so hurt, but he can’t help it.

He should be ashamed, sure, his entire relationship with Tim should be shameful and forbidden, and he should be doing time in jail for taking the virginity of a sixteen-year-old boy who looks up at him with adoration and idolization.

He should be drowning in a sea of hypocrisy, but he’s not.

He’s alive and free and breathing and touching himself while thinking about Tim, his Tim, so loyal and so smart, his Tim who would never ever ever leave him, no matter how many times he hurts him.

That shouldn’t be a comfort.

V.

 

It happens on Saturday.

Tim comes down for breakfast and starts talking, tells Bruce about his nights and the things he found while patrolling alone, and Bruce listens, stunned. The situation is unfamiliar to him. His last fight with Dick lasted two weeks, so this, this talking out of nowhere as if everything’s right gets to him.

Alfred, standing by the door, looks at him and raises an eyebrow. Bruce knows what that means. He takes a sip from his coffee and clears his throat.

“Tim—”

“And I’m pretty sure I saw Harley Quinn buying clothes—wasn’t she locked up?”

“Tim, listen—”

“Because she needs to stay locked up and not out in society. Sure, people deserve second chances and I’m all for that, but we all know she’ll go wrong the second the Joker escapes again…”

“Tim…”

“What?”

“I…I just wanted to tell you that…” he looks at Alfred, and gets glared at, so he turns back to Tim who is handsome and young and fresh and waiting for him to apologize like a decent human being.

It’s a hard thing to do when he can’t shake off the feeling of being right.

Tim could have gotten himself killed.

“What I’m trying to say is that—”

“Hey, Bruce, I’m sorry. You know, about that day. You were right, I got carried away and almost ruined the entire thing. Anyway, I gotta go. Gonna meet Steph in a hour.”

Tim leaves with a smile, and when he passes by Bruce, his fingers brush against Bruce’s hand and that feels like a promise.

VI.

The strange feeling of having the boy writhing underneath him never goes away. Not completely. The strange feeling of being inside him and looking into his eyes at the same time, touching the young flesh, caressing it with his knuckles and holding his jaw with one hand always tell him that he’s out of his mind. That this boy, this young, brilliant boy has suffered enough and he doesn’t want to mess up his heart any more. He doesn’t know what he feels. He isn’t sure, yet he pretends he is, pretends he’s got the answers. He’s supposed to have all the answers. It’s the way things work.

Tim doesn’t help.

He moans and moves and groans and holds on to Bruce, his fingers digging into his skin, and Bruce doesn’t think twice before speeding up his pace, going fast and making the boy take it regardless if he can handle it or not. It’s an ugly side of him, the perverted, dark side he keeps to himself, but Tim likes it, and that’s the thing, he likes it when Bruce is rough and good and maybe that’s why the older man, the pervert, the bat man, snakes a hand up the boy’s torso until it reaches his neck and his hand is so big and calloused that it can almost wrap itself perfectly around Tim’s neck, and he squeezes, he knows it won’t kill him, he knows it won’t make him pass out, but Tim’s cheeks start getting red and soon enough his entire face is flushed except he doesn’t complain, he moves and starts jerking himself off, and his moans are broken and cracked and he can’t breathe but he comes and Bruce lets go because he wants to hear him, wants to hear him being loud, and Tim doesn’t let him down.

Tim never lets him down.

So he pulls out, and doesn’t give time for the boy to even think, he grabs him and puts him on his knees, in front of him, and the mattress is too soft but it’s okay, and Bruce holds his own cock, gives it one, two, three strokes, and drags the head across Tim’s lips, and then he gives three light slaps on each side of his cheek and Tim teases, sticks his tongue out and Bruce lets him lick him, suck him just a little bit, and then he makes the boy stop, makes the boy look at him as he starts stroking himself again, and when he comes, when he stains the boy’s lips and cheeks and rubs himself against it, against his face, smears his come all over him, when he does that, Tim smiles as if that’s what he wanted all along, as if he couldn’t be more complete.

Bruce kisses him and knows he’s bound to end up insane.


End file.
